


Hole

by buckybleeds



Series: Alphabet Soup [10]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Gang Rape, HYDRA Trash Party, Hurt No Comfort, Isolation, M/M, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Psychological Torture, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Solitary Confinement
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:49:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22978660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buckybleeds/pseuds/buckybleeds
Summary: Physical torture is for sadists and amateurs - HYDRA areprofessionals, TYVM.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Hydra Agents
Series: Alphabet Soup [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1390954
Comments: 18
Kudos: 120





	Hole

**Author's Note:**

> Super! Fuckin'! Rapey!  
> That's it, that's the fic.

Bucky Barnes sits on a hard floor in a cold, dark room and shakes. 

Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes tries to get his shit together, tries to get a handle on things, tries to keep a lid on it. 

He's not sure why those two people are two people but he knows they are by now. Bucky is the one who can yell and cry when they open the door and reach out for him, the Sergeant is the one who stands still when they tell him to and freezes his face into a mask so they can't see how much they're hurting him or how scared he is.

Neither of those two people have seen the sun in a long, long time.

***

Bucky bit one of the guards and now he's in a cold, dark room sitting on the floor and shaking. 

He doesn't know how long he's been in the cold, dark room but he knows that he's hungry in that way that isn't hunger. They feed him, in the dark. They push a plate through a flap in the door once in a while but no people come in, no light comes in. There's a hole in the floor near the corner of two walls that sends colder air and bad smells into the cold, dark room.

Bucky's lost count of how many times he's shit in the hole in the floor of the cold, dark room since they put him in here. More than ten, probably less than thirty. He doesn't have to shit in the hole in the floor now. No food has come through the flap in the door in a pretty long time. He's hungry. But he's also hungry-that-isn't. He's - 

He runs his fingertips over the soft, tender new skin at the end of what used to be his left arm. He feels his fingers more there than anywhere else, even if he touches his cock or puts his hand in his mouth. The stump is the most sensitive, makes the touch the most real. Means that he can pretend the warm hand is someone else's, that someone else is holding him and comforting him and that he has his eyes closed because it's bright and warm out and that he isn't blind and alone in a cold, dark room with a hole in the floor to shit through.

They used to put him in here for almost everything. Two days for speaking without being asked a question. A week for flinching away from one of the technicians.

He used to be much easier to startle. Now he's hard to startle because he's scared all the time.

He couldn't remember why he bit the guard. There must have been a reason at the time. He must have felt it was necessary. But he couldn't remember why.

The part of him that's still Bucky Barnes and that yells and wants to run away wonders why he'd let the guard put his cock in his mouth in the first place. Did he think he had a good reason for that?

He didn't really need a reason. The cold, dark room was the reason. The privilege of hearing voices and seeing people walking through the halls and sleeping on a mat in a room that had bars across the entrance but was also warm. Those were the reasons. He let the guard put his cock in his mouth because if he didn't they'd take away all of those nice things and replace them with a cold, dark room with a hole in the floor. 

It's been weeks. At least weeks. Maybe a month. They've never put him in here this long before.

He remembers the first time they had him use his mouth on them.

They'd had him kneel, they'd told him to open, but the first slide of a prick on his tongue had made him rear back like a spooked horse.

Two days in the cold, dark room for that and when they opened the door they had him kneel, they told him to open, and he knew what they were saying. They were saying that if he failed again all they had to do was close the door and he'd be alone in the dark.

He knew that there was a time that he would have preferred to be alone, that he would have said "yes, throw me in the dark and lock the door and toss away the key because I'd rather spend a thousand years in the dark and cold than touch you for just one second" but that younger version of him was stupid and wrong. It was better to touch, to open his mouth and feel the girth of it spreading his lips wide and to hollow his cheeks and swallow when they came than to be in the cold, dark room for one more fucking minute.

So he knelt and he opened his mouth and sucked and serviced every man they sent through that line, and when he'd been good and hadn't flinched and everyone had had a turn they pulled him forward and closed the door _behind_ him and he was so grateful for the light in the hallway and the sound of voices that he'd wept.

***

When the door opens and the light arcs in and burns his eyes Sergeant Barnes knows better than to flinch away from the pain and he knows better than to plead that they take him away from this terrible room. 

Begging is something they only want under orders, otherwise it's just speaking out of turn.

It's been months, definitely months since they put him in here and if they take away the light he's going to start screaming and never stop.

So he stays where he was when the light invaded, his eyes watering in pain and fear but otherwise still and patient.

They pull him to his feet and he goes easily. They make him walk and he does. They arrange him on his knees in a large, tiled room and turn on a scalding shower.

It burns. It burns very badly after the cold, dark room but he stays where they've put him. They clean him from head to toe, using real, good soap and soft hands and he shivers because he doesn't know when these soft hands are going to turn sharp and mean or if he's blinking too much under the spray and if they'll put him back in the cold, dark room for his fluttering eyes. He tries, he tries very hard to blink the right amount and not to shiver so much that they'll put him back.

They finish cleaning him, they pat him dry with rough towels and the next room they take him into looks like it might sometimes be a barracks, with cheap metal frames shoved empty against the far wall. 

There's one bedframe with a mattress. It's in the center of the floor.

They put him on the bed. On his back. They spread his legs.

And that's right, that's why he bit the guard, because he'd leaned forward from where Bucky was obediently sucking his cock and prodded at Bucky's asshole with a blunt dirty finger and said he was getting bored with the Soldier's useless, loose hole and wanted to try the other.

Something warm and slick is being spread from his balls to his tailbone and for a minute Bucky realizes maybe he's just a hole to shit into and then that thought is getting fucked out of his head and running down from the corners of his eyes because he'd wanted this, he'd maybe wanted this someday but not like this and he's never going to be able to have it fresh and new and like the first taste of some French pastry that melts on your tongue; it's always going to be _after_ , after this day, after this mess, after this line of men stretching through the door and _Christ_ this is going to tear him in half but when it does they'll just sew him back together and put him in the dark, cold room with a hole in the floor to shit into if he complains about it. 

It's like the day with the suckjobs, they lay him out and fuck into him and one finishes and the next one starts and he stays where they put him and tries to grab back and clench down and make it good because maybe if he's good they'll let him keep the light. When they've all taken a turn they hose him off in the shower again and bring him to another room, an infirmary room, and there are straggly weeds in a pitcher on the bedside table like maybe someone in this godforsaken tundra went outside and tried to pick flowers because the man in the bed is the one Bucky nearly bit the dick off of and he's got a big, ugly smile on his big, ugly face.

His cock is out and hard and healed, though Bucky can see silvery little tooth-marks nearly at the base and is momentarily impressed that he'd managed to fit that much dick in his mouth and still bit down without choking.

They tell him to ride the guard, to fuck himself on that newly-healed cock.

He does. 

They tell him to grind and circle his hips and touch himself.

He does. 

They tell him to cry and beg and say he wants it and he does.

They tell him he's just a pretty toy for them to use, that he has to do whatever they want. They tell him to say he's just a hole for them to fill up.

He does.

He does because if he doesn't they're going to put him back in the cold, dark room and even though the man under him is leering and disgusting and calling him a pretty, cock-hungry little slut it's better to watch his eyes roll back when he comes inside of Bucky than it is to spend another fucking minute in the dark.

They put him in his cell after. They tell him to be good. He does as he's told.

***

They say whatever they want around him and it doesn't matter if he understands or not because he knows better than to react. 

He hears the words "psychologically divorced from the concept of body autonomy" and the words "the risk of adverse reactions outweighs the possible benefits of sedation" and it doesn't matter to him because nothing matters to him as long as they don't put him in the room.

They cut him open, they take parts away, they put parts on. It hurts terribly, it hurts in ways he never would have been able to imagine before he was psychologically divorced from the concept of body autonomy. It hurts badly enough that maybe the risk of adverse reactions no longer outweighs the possible benefits of sedation and so they put the soldier to sleep.

Bucky Barnes is the one who wakes up.

He wakes up in pain and full of the memories of the way he's been made into this. He wakes up startled, because when he was asleep he forgot to be scared.

He wakes up and kills a technician and as it's happening, as the untrained, unfamiliar silver arm snakes out to strangle a man as quick as a thought, Bucky and the Soldier are both screaming _NO_ inside his head because they know what comes next.

Except that they don't.

And it turns out that a cryo chamber is even colder and darker than the terrible room only you can't even move or eat or shit in the floor to break the violent, terrible monotony of it.

Bucky Barnes kills a technician, the Soldier gets put in the tube, and in the dark and the cold they spend a long, silent time screaming together.

**Author's Note:**

> "Alphabet Soup" isn't dead or anything, it's just taking me a while to write because I keep getting really good idea that get spun off into bigger projects. These fics are all supposed to be standalone oneshots so I can't make them part of an epic longfic.


End file.
